A misunderstanding tore them apart.

Now he’s her only chance...

Blackhawk Security’s Elizabeth Dawson believes ex-government programmer Braxton Levitt betrayed her, but now he’s the only one who can keep her safe. A killer steps ahead of them is methodically hunting the pregnant analyst to access her top-level software program. But as Braxton and Liz race to stop him, their broken trust—and most intimate secrets—could end more than their lives...

NICHOLE SEVERN writes explosive romantic suspense with strong heroines, heroes who dare challenge them and a hell of a lot of guns. She resides with her very supportive and patient husband, as well as her demon spawn, in Utah. When she’s not writing, she’s constantly injuring herself running, rock climbing, practicing yoga and snowboarding. She loves hearing from readers through her website, www.nicholesevern.com, and on Twitter, @nicholesevern

Also by Nichole Severn

Rules in Blackmail

Rules in Rescue

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Rules in Deceit

Nichole Severn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09451-1

RULES IN DECEIT

© 2019 Natascha Jaffa

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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To my Bat Signal group, this book never would’ve

gotten finished—twice—without you.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

About the Publisher

Chapter One

“You’re not dead.” Rage and relief urged Elizabeth Dawson to push away from the conference room table and tackle her former partner to the floor, but she held her control.

“It’s good to see you, too, Sprinkles.” Braxton Levitt’s rich, seductive voice skittered under her skin. The sound of his handpicked nickname for her on his lips—as if they were still friends—tightened the muscles down her spine. That gray gaze pinned her against the back of her chair. A rare occasion. His eyes were normally green, depending on what he wore. She pushed the useless fact to the back of her mind as he planted his elbows on the massive wood table, leaning forward. Thick muscle and tendons flexed beneath his thin T-shirt, and goose bumps prickled down her arms. After all this time, did he honestly think he could walk back into her life after what he’d done?

“Don’t call me that.” No matter how many times she’d imagined this moment—of confronting him after all these months—there’d always been a small part of grief lodged in her chest. Her fingers curled into the center of her palms beneath the table. She had to stay in control. He wasn’t the man she thought he’d been. Her heartbeat pounded loud behind her ears. Something alive—full of fury—clawed its way up her throat, but she couldn’t touch him. Not in any way that counted. He’d made damn sure of that when she’d been pulled into countless interrogations after his disappearance. He cost her a career she’d spent a decade building. Now, no one but Blackhawk Security would hire her. Too much of a risk. Elizabeth mirrored his movements, clasping her hands in front of her on top of the table. “You paid my boss for my time, so get on with it. What do you want, Braxton?”

Despite the federal charges stacked against him, Braxton leaned back in his chair as he ran one hand through his dark shoulder-length hair, completely at ease. No longer was he the clean-cut, out-of-shape intelligence analyst she’d known back at the NSA. He’d changed, now something more primal, as though he’d seen things he couldn’t possibly forget. New, bulky muscle stretched against the seams in his clothing. Physically different, yet the same man reflected underneath the confidence in his eyes, in his heart-stopping, manipulative smile. Under all those changes, he was still the man who’d walked out on her.

“I missed you.” Stubble ran along his jawline, a little fuller than she remembered, deepening the permanent laugh lines around his mouth. She’d once missed the effects of that smile, the gut-clenching delirium he brought to the surface from no more than the upward tilt of his lips. The trust. Scary what that smile could hide.

“Is that why you’re here?” she asked. “Because you missed me?”

The blue ball cap pulled low over his head failed to hide the bottom of a scar cut through his left eyebrow he’d gotten during a fight as a teenager. He studied the dark, rainy view of the Chugach mountain range through the floor-to-ceiling windows as if her words hadn’t registered then recentered on her. He tapped his fingers against the gleaming conference room table as he sat back in his chair. “No.” His shoulders rose on a deep inhale. “Dalton Meyer is dead. Someone tied your old NSA supervisor to a chair and tortured him so they could hijack Oversight and find you. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Elizabeth’s blood iced. “That’s not possible.”

The facial-recognition program she’d been contracted to build for the NSA had the highest level of security ever coded. She’d designed the system to run autonomously. No human interference. Not even the director of the NSA had access. Its job was to strictly surveil the American population to identify threats to national security using security cameras, traffic cameras, email scanning. Law enforcement, FBI, CIA—they all relied on those feeds. If they’d gone off-line or been hijacked as Braxton suggested…the possibilities were endless.

The threats were endless.

Elizabeth released the breath she’d been holding. There was only one other person in the world who had the ability to override Oversight’s programming. And he sat across the table from her. “How did you find me?”

“The fact I’m sitting here says a simple name change isn’t working for you, Sprinkles,” he said. “If I was able to find you in less than twenty-four hours, how long do you think it’ll take someone who’s hijacked your program and is gunning for you?”

“Stop calling me that. We’re not friends anymore.” Her jaw tightened. She followed passing movement outside the conference room through the blinds. Blackhawk Security provided home security, protection and investigative services and handled military contracts. She’d left the NSA behind, left that life behind. She’d moved on. Whatever this was, whatever Braxton wanted from her… No. Protecting her clients was her life now. Sullivan Bishop, Blackhawk Security’s founder and CEO, and the rest of the team had taken a chance on her. Trained her without questions about her past. She wasn’t about to blow it based on some wild theory the man who’d turned on her had cooked up to come back into her life. If someone had tortured her former project supervisor and was using her own program to hunt her, she had an entire team she could count on now. Former SEALs, Rangers, con men, a profiler. She didn’t need him.

“Is that all you thought we were? Friends?” Braxton studied her, staring up at her from below thick, dark eyebrows. “I remember that night, Liz. Hard to believe I was that easy to forget.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything.” She fought against the urge to swipe her hand across her lower abdomen. She’d waited four long months for this moment. Time to get it over with. Time to move on from him. “Since you’ve brought up that night, you should know I’ve been trying to find you for a few weeks now to tell you I’m pregnant.”

Braxton sat forward in his chair, staring at her from across the table. “H-how?”

Really? That was the question he wanted her to answer? “You want me to explain to you how a woman gets pregnant? Okay. You see, when a woman thinks she’s in love with her best friend she’s trusted for years—”

“That’s not what I meant.” He exhaled hard. “We were careful. We used protection.”

“Yes, well, obviously that didn’t work.” The pressure of his full attention tightened her insides. Liquid fire burned through her. She swallowed hard against the sensation. He wasn’t supposed to affect her like this. Her crush had ended the night he’d left her to pick up the pieces of his mess. He exuded confidence with his subtle movements. The haze clouding her head dissipated, and she forced everything inside her to go cold as she stood. Digging for her phone, she swiped her thumb across the screen and set the timer. “Now, if you came here for my help, you’re out of luck. I don’t work for the NSA anymore. So I hope you’ve got your money’s worth. This meeting is over. I’ll give you a ten-minute head start before I call the FBI.”

“You’re being hunted, and you just told me you’re pregnant with my baby.” Braxton pushed away from the table. Three distinct lines deepened at the bridge of his nose. A day’s worth of dark stubble that matched his hair shifted over his strong jaw. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I bet all the girls fall for that line. And, to be fair, I tried to tell you before now, but I couldn’t find you.” Elizabeth reached for the large oak door. Her instincts screamed for her to put as much space between them as she could. Her muscles had tensed so hard she ached. What did he expect her to do? Take him at his word that he was here to protect her? That he didn’t need something from her? Not happening. She flashed her phone’s screen at him. “Nine minutes. You’re wasting time, Braxton.”

He moved fast. Faster than she thought possible. His rough hands pressed into the door, hiking her blood pressure higher as he caged her in the circle of his massive arms. The faint scent of soap and his own masculine scent filled the air, urging her to breathe him in deeper. Two years as coworkers. He’d recruited her for the NSA, helped her land the contract of her career. Taken her to his bed.

“I’m the only one who can protect you, Liz. You know that,” he said.

Fury built behind her sternum. A deadly wrath that couldn’t be contained anymore.

“How would I know that?” Only the pounding of her heart working overtime filled her ears as she leveled her chin with the floor. She’d been naive to think anything could work between them. Elizabeth fisted her hands at her sides to control the trembling raking through her. She’d trusted him to the end. Denied the allegations the NSA had thrown at her in those interrogations after he vanished.

Braxton Levitt had an entire arsenal of body language, stories and personalities to force his marks into believing he was who he claimed. That was all she was to him. All she had been to him. A mark. “Everything I knew about you turned out to be a lie.”

He straightened but kept her caged against the door. “I never lied to you.”

“Really? Up until four months ago, I thought we knew everything about each other. You recruited me for the NSA to build Oversight, became the only person I could trust, then took me to your bed, and that same night, you disappeared.” The last word hissed from her mouth. She lowered her voice in case the doors weren’t soundproofed. “Now you’re here, asking me to trust you with my life?” Elizabeth stepped into him, his clean scent surrounding her. It took everything she had—every last reserve of energy—to keep her control in place. “I don’t know a damn thing about you, Braxton. I don’t think I ever did. Now, let me go before I find a reason to reach for my gun.”

His expression fell as he stepped back, taking his body heat with him. “I would never hurt you.”

Her heart jolted in her chest from the sincerity in his voice. She studied him with a new mind-set. No emotion. No ties back to the past. Not as a spurned one-night stand but as an operative of Blackhawk Security. The creases around his mouth and the hollow circles under his eyes revealed the exhaustion he’d been dealing with since his disappearance. Worry lines, perhaps? A man on the run certainly became paranoid once stepping back into the spotlight. Every federal organization in the country had searched high and low for him since his disappearance. How had he managed to stay under the radar all this time? Whom had he relied on for help?

Not her. She locked her back teeth together. Didn’t matter. This was the last time they’d be in the same room together. He’d slide back under the radar, and she’d go back to doing what she did best: protecting herself—and their baby. She wasn’t heartless. She’d just taught herself how to use her heart less. Elizabeth’s short black hair slid out from behind her ears as she wrenched the door open. “You already have.”

A deep rumble reached her ears, claiming her attention a split second before Braxton shoved her into the hallway, and an eight-foot solid oak door rocketed into her.

BRAXTON LEVITT SLAMMED face-first into the nearest wall. Heat tunneled through his clothing as glass rained down around him. Emergency lighting cast the entire floor into shades of red as alarms kept rhythm with his pulse. He shifted his weight into his hands, flexing his jaw against the pain spreading through his ribs. Something wet slid down his cheek. He swiped at it as a gust of cold Alaskan air and rain rushed through what used to be an entire wall of windows. Blood.

“Liz!” Squinting through the rising smoke, he shoved to his feet. He blinked as a wave of dizziness tipped him into a fern still standing beside the one unhinged door. Yells punctured through the ringing in his ears. The sprinkler system fought to drench the sporadic fires clinging to the walls and the remains of the conference table. He stumbled through what was left of the massive door frame. “You better be alive.”

Pain seared through his rib cage. His temples throbbed in rhythm to the alarms. She had to be alive. If he lost her again… No. He couldn’t go there. Couldn’t think like that. A dull ringing filled his ears. Then a moan. Her moan. Braxton’s insides burned with an energy he’d learned to contain. A pair of familiar black boots registered in his peripheral vision. “Liz.”

Air stalled in his lungs. Not because he’d nearly died in the timed explosion but because for thirty horrible, mind-numbing seconds, he’d lost her all over again. The hollowness of four months and ten days’ separation from her vanished as he hauled an oak door and a few other pieces of debris off her with a guttural groan.

Brushing her hair out of her face, he lifted her into him, and the rest of the world fell away. Lean muscle flexed beneath her black leggings and leather jacket as her hand moved to her lower abdomen. Flames crackled around them, sirens already echoing off the surrounding buildings in the street below, but he didn’t give a damn. His body’s response to Liz had always been off the charts. She’d been the only woman who could make him lose control. Still was. Black smudges highlighted the sharp edges of her cheekbones and jawline. The steady thump at the base of her throat relieved the pressure in his chest, but that relief didn’t last long. The bastard who’d hijacked Oversight had set a bomb—for Liz. He was sure of it. That rumbling sound right before the explosion? Had to have been a cell phone on vibrate. A detonator. He should’ve known the SOB hunting her would’ve tried to get to her at work. The more casualties, the better chance he had of getting away with murder. More time, more evidence to sift through. Braxton fought the rage spreading rampant beneath his sternum. “Come on, baby, open your eyes. Can you hear me?”

“For once in your life, call me by my actual name.” A cough ripped up her throat. She jerked in his arms. Once. Twice. Brown eyes, as dark as chocolate, focused on him. “You do remember what it is, don’t you?”

A smile fought for release. He’d missed her fire. Her attitude. Missed her. They’d been a great team back in Fort Meade. Saving the country one line of code at a time. Back before he’d destroyed everything between them to keep her safe. The smile disappeared. None of that mattered now. Keeping her alive—that was all that mattered.

“We’ve got to go.” They had to get out of here before whoever had set that bomb realized he hadn’t killed his target. Her lavender-scented shampoo invigorated his senses as she wrapped both arms around him, raising goose bumps on the back of his neck. It’d been a long time since he’d breathed her in. He tightened his hold around her waist. Get her to safety. Find the man using her own program to kill her. Maybe convince her he wasn’t the man she believed.

“Liz!” Blackhawk Security’s founder and CEO, Sullivan Bishop, shielded his face from the flames as he ran toward them. Braxton had done his homework. He knew the former SEAL had a woman of his own—a JAG Corps prosecutor—but the use of one of his nicknames for her still grated on Braxton’s nerves. Liz didn’t let anyone give her a nickname. The two had obviously gotten close since she’d relocated to Anchorage, and his gut tightened in response. One of the other operatives followed close on Sullivan’s heels. Blackhawk’s disgraced NYPD officer, Vincent Kalani, studied the scene, ready for battle. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.” Liz wrenched out of Braxton’s grasp, struggling to her feet on her own, all contact between them severed. She brushed debris from her clothing and huffed a piece of hair out of her face. From the outside, it was such an innocent movement, but Braxton understood her tells. He always had. Despite her hard exterior, she’d been rattled. And with good reason. Someone had tried to kill her. But she refused to allow anyone to see vulnerability, especially those she worked with. “But I think it’s safe to say our conference room is not. Was anybody hurt in the explosion?”

“No fatalities. From what we can tell, most suffered only minor burns and scrapes from the blast.” The forensics expert—Vincent—checked a gash on his forearm, swiping the blood away against his long-sleeve shirt. The muscled, tattooed Hawaiian ran a hand through his shoulder-length brown hair. “Was anyone else in the conference room with you?”

Liz shook her head. “No. Just the two of us.”

“Good. As much as I’d like to scour through debris for evidence of who attacked us, let’s get to the street. Then you tell me who the hell detonated a bomb in my building.” Sullivan turned down the long hallway leading past several now-empty offices, a med clinic and the elevators and stairwell.

“Whoever it was targeted Liz,” Braxton said.

Liz rounded into his vision. “There’s no evidence proving that bomb was meant for me.”

Sullivan twisted around, lips thin, hands ready to tear into the person responsible. “You used to work for the NSA, right? Sold classified intel and disappeared?” The CEO closed the distance between them, expression hard, calculating. “How do I know it wasn’t you who set a bomb in my conference room? Some sick game to get Elizabeth back in your life.”

“I’d kill any one of you before I let something happen to her. Is that a good enough answer for you?” Braxton straightened, surveying Vincent’s position in case the ex-cop made a move, then centered on Sullivan again. “The only thing that matters is this guy is going to keep gunning for her. I’m not going to let that happen.”

“Let’s move out.” Sullivan didn’t take his attention off Braxton. “I don’t trust you, Levitt.” Veins pulsed under the skin of the CEO’s arms as he pointed a dirt-smudged finger at him. “If anything happens to her, I will find you, understand?”

“I get that a lot.” Despite the threat, Braxton didn’t take offense. Liz had an entire team watching her back. He couldn’t fault the former Navy SEAL for protecting a member in his unit.

Vincent rounded behind him and Liz to take up the rear with silent obedience.

The sirens grew louder. First responders had arrived on the scene.

But Braxton didn’t move. The bomber hadn’t attacked Blackhawk Security. Not directly. The bastard had had only one target in mind, and he was staring right at her. The bomb was just the beginning. Whoever had set it would try again as soon as they realized Liz had survived. And what better way to ensure a target had been killed than enter the building as an EMT or firefighter for confirmation? Braxton lowered his voice, instincts prickling. There was more at stake now. They had a baby to consider. He shifted closer to her, pain radiating at the base of his skull as they made their way down the hallway, and lowered his voice to prevent the security cameras from picking up their conversation. “Listen to me, Liz. We can’t go to the street.”

“Wow, you do remember my name.” Liz moved to follow her colleagues.

He threaded his fingers around her arm and pulled her to a stop, holding her against him. The small fires burning around them had nothing on her body heat tunneling through his clothing right then. He covered his mouth and nose in the crook of his arm. “The garage. The only way in is with a key card, right? One exit? He’ll expect us down on the street with the others. Not exiting the garage.”

“What are you talking about?” She wrenched away from him as though his touch had burned her, his fingertips tingling from the friction against her jacket. Those dark brown eyes locked on him. One second. Two. Wisps of her uneven exhales tickled the oversensitized skin along his neck as she turned on him. “You’re insane if you think I’m going anywhere with you.”

Damn her stubbornness. One day it was going to get her killed. And then where would he be? He couldn’t find the bastard hunting her down without her. No matter how many times he’d tried to keep his distance, every road, every move to stay off the Feds’ radar had led him to Anchorage…to her. He didn’t care that her program might’ve already recognized him and reported his location to the NSA. He wasn’t going to leave her unprotected again.

The floor rumbled underneath his feet. The explosion had most likely damaged the building’s structure. They didn’t have a whole lot of time.

“We need to get moving.” Vincent stepped toward them as Blackhawk Security’s CEO disappeared into a cloud of smoke toward the stairwell. Close enough for Braxton to reach out and touch him.

He didn’t want to have to do this, but the hard determination in Liz’s gaze said he didn’t have any other choice. “All right. If you’re not going to come with me willingly—” Braxton spun, wrapping his grip around the Sig Sauer in Vincent’s shoulder holster, and twisted the weapon out of the cop’s reach. With one hard swing of the butt of the gun to the operative’s head, Vincent went down. Hard. Braxton hefted the gun up, attention leveled on the shocked woman in front of him.

Liz lunged for the unconscious operative. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m kidnapping you. Once the bomber realizes you’re not dead, we lose the upper hand.” He pointed to her jacket with the barrel of the gun. “Toss your sidearm. Please.”

“Do you honestly expect me to leave him here?” Digging beneath the leather, she tossed her handgun to the floor.

“Of course not. Rescue is already on the way.” He kicked the weapon out of her reach and motioned her to her feet. “Head for the garage.”

“You should shoot me now, because I’m sure as hell going to shoot you when I get the chance.” She rose slowly, expression controlled, voice dropping into dangerous territory. Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed on him. Exhaustion—maybe a bit of pain from the blast—broke through her movements as she stepped around the unconscious forensics expert at her feet.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” The muscles in Braxton’s arms and neck tensed. In the thousands of times he’d imagined this moment, this wasn’t how he’d expected their reunion to turn out. But there was a killer on the loose, and he wasn’t about to lose her again. Not Liz. And not their baby. She shifted in front of him. Every second she stayed out in the open notched his blood pressure higher. “I’m trying to save your life, damn it. Trust me.”

“Stop asking me to trust you.” Liz headed for the stairwell, fire reflecting in her dark gaze. “I’m still trying to get over the last time you betrayed me.”

Chapter Two

A wall of cold slammed into Elizabeth as they hit the parking garage. Only a handful of Blackhawk Security vehicles waited in their assigned spaces. There was no mysterious bomber waiting to ambush them as Braxton had suggested upstairs, but the illusion of safety never settled.

Could have had something to do with the fact the man she’d thought she’d loved all those months ago—the man whose child she carried—had a gun pressed against her spine. Smoke still registered on the air, the flashing of emergency lights bouncing off the cement walls from the street. There were only two ways out of the garage, and a bomb had taken out one of them. The other was the gate leading to the street, but she didn’t reach for the key card all operatives were required to carry. And she wouldn’t. Not until she had some answers. Scanning the SUVs, Elizabeth stopped dead in her tracks. “What’s the plan now?”

“Now we get out of here.” Braxton pressed his hand into the small of her back, bringing her into his side as he moved them toward one of the SUVs. His natural scent wrapped around her, but she didn’t find comfort there like she used to. “Don’t suppose you brought a set of car keys?”

“Must’ve left them in the jacket that doesn’t smell like smoke.” Pain washed through her. She glanced down at the gun aimed into her rib cage then quickly back to their surroundings as they closed in on the nearest SUV. Safety still on. Interesting. Sweat dripped down her spine as rain struck the cement at the edges of the asphalt. Him coming back here, the explosion… Her pulse throbbed at the base of her skull. This was insane. That bomb could’ve been meant for any operative on the team. For all she knew, it could’ve been meant for him. So why come back? Blackhawk Security wasn’t in the habit of filling in the authorities on their clients, but her boss should’ve made an exception for Braxton Levitt. The NSA wouldn’t stop looking for him. He’d never be a free man as long as treason charges were on the table. “What makes you think whoever set that bomb is targeting me?”

“Someone tortured your project supervisor and hijacked Oversight.” He kept his attention on the prize ahead, occasionally studying their surroundings as they moved. Ten feet until they reached the nearest SUV. His expression tightened beneath the shadows cast from the baseball cap. “Call it instinct.”

“Tell me you’re joking.” Elizabeth ripped away from his touch and shoved him away. He wouldn’t use the gun on her. This entire kidnapping was a charade. “That’s not enough evidence to insert yourself back into my life. You left, Braxton. You lost the right to pretend you care about anybody other than yourself.”

The green-gray eyes she’d been trying to forget for the last four months locked on her, those mountainous shoulders deflating beneath his heavy brown jacket. “Liz—”

The stairwell door slammed closed behind them. Braxton twisted back over his shoulder, hefting the gun up and over toward the imagined threat. He stepped in front of her as though he intended to protect her from harm. But he wasn’t a protector. No matter how many times he claimed he’d come back to keep her safe.

Thrusting her knee into the back of his, Elizabeth pushed him forward. The gun dropped to the pavement, metal on asphalt loud in her ears as he fought to balance. Lunging for it, she barely wrapped her fingers around the grip before he pulled her upright, his grip on her wrist cutting off circulation. Damn, he moved fast.

His breath fanned across the sensitive skin along her collarbones. Warmth spread from her neck up into her cheeks as he held her close, his mouth mere centimeters from hers. A mouth meant for spilling lies. “I’m not here to hurt you, Liz. I would never hurt you.”

Did she really have to remind him there were more ways to hurt her than the physical? He’d destroyed her career, gotten her pregnant and disappeared. It wasn’t until Sullivan Bishop and the Blackhawk Security team had offered her a place as their network security analyst three months ago that she’d started pulling the shattered pieces of her life back together. Without them, who knew where she would be right now.

“Let me go.” She fought to free herself, but Braxton only held her tighter. Once upon a time, she would’ve enjoyed that strong grip around her. Her insides instantly clenched. Now, the only thought running through her head centered on getting as far from him as possible. “What do you want from me?”

Her hand shook around the warm steel of the gun. She couldn’t let him get inside her head.

“I want you alive, for starters.” He pressed her against him, his fingertips leaving impressions in the small of her back. He studied her from forehead to chin. “If that means I have to knock you unconscious and throw you over my shoulder, I will.”

Air rushed from her lungs. The sincerity in his gaze, in his voice… He meant it. A short burst from one of the police sirens tensed the muscles down her spine but brought her back into the moment. “You actually believe someone is trying to kill me?”

“I have the proof.” Braxton released his hold on her wrist but let her keep the gun. Offering her a hand, he gave her the space to make the choice for herself. “All you have to do is trust me.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Every cell in her body urged her to take his hand. The sharp angles to his jaw, the heavy five o’clock shadow, the slight bend in his nose where he’d broken it playing football one summer, even the thin slice of scar across his palm where he’d slipped on ice in elementary school… It was all so familiar. Comforting. But she didn’t know this man. The Braxton she’d known never would’ve deserted her in the first place. She forced her attention to his eyes. “If I agree to go with you, you will answer every question I have.”

“I give you my word.” His voice dropped an octave. Sensual, compelling.

Her chest tightened on a deep inhale. She loosened her grip around the gun, the tingling sensation in her fingers subsiding as she leveled her chin with the asphalt. Handing over Vincent’s stolen Sig Sauer, Elizabeth drew back when his fingers closed on top of hers. In an almost militaristic manner, he cleared the loaded round, dropped the magazine, slammed it back into place and chambered another. No. Whoever stood in front of her wasn’t her Braxton. This man was hardened, muscled. Dangerous. She exhaled against the nausea churning inside. “And when this is over, you’ll crawl back to the rock you’ve been hiding under for the last four months. Are we clear?”

The lines etched between his dark eyebrows deepened. He dropped the gun to his side, so casual she’d believe he’d handled a firearm all his life. Which wasn’t the case. “Do you remember what I said to you that first day we met?”

The words forced their way forward from the back of her mind. Her throat tightened around the memory of her first day of working for the NSA, the day she’d met him. She swiped her tongue across her dry lips. “I sat down at the desk next to yours with my ice cream from the cafeteria, and you made fun of my choice of topping.” Rainbow-colored sprinkles. The nickname he’d called her ever since. A smile pulled at one edge of her mouth. “Then you said, ‘One thing you need to understand here, Sprinkles. This place will eat you alive. Stick with me, and no matter what happens, you can count on me to get you out of it.’” A hint of smoke coming off his clothing singed deep into her lungs as she focused on him. “And I believed you.”

“Do you still believe me?” he asked.

Yes. No. Her stomach flipped. If someone was trying to kill her, she wouldn’t stand around here all day waiting for it to happen. “I don’t know what to believe.”

Movement registered in her peripheral vision at the automatic gate. A firefighter. He’d presumably been assigned to check the rest of the building for signs of structural damage and flames. Dressed in full protective equipment, including face shield, he stopped just outside the gate and tried to pull it up manually. Wouldn’t work. That gate didn’t open for anybody unless they worked in the building. He’d have to get the fire code from her boss, Sullivan Bishop. Stiffness drained from the muscles around her spine a split second before the gate lifted on its own. “Everything okay down here?”

Braxton turned, maneuvering the gun behind his back. Out of sight.

“We’re fine. How’d you get in? That gate is supposed to be sealed.” Warning bells rang loud in her head. That wasn’t right. Nobody could access that gate—not even emergency personnel—without a Blackhawk Security operative key card or individualized code. She dropped her voice as the firefighter advanced. Too fast. Alone. “Braxton…”

The firefighter lifted a handgun and took aim. At her.

A strong hand pushed her to the ground as a bullet ripped past her ear. The garage turned on its axis. Braxton took position in front of her as he returned fire. Pain shot up through her knees, loose asphalt ripping holes in her leggings, but Elizabeth didn’t hesitate. Digging in her jacket pocket, she wrapped her hand around the keys to her company SUV near the shooter and hit the panic button.

Headlights flashed; the alarm blared. It’d only distract the shooter for a few seconds, but that was all she needed. The gunfire died. She shoved to her feet and sprinted for Elliot Dunham’s SUV. Blackhawk Security’s private investigator usually left his keys in the front seat, and she silently prayed he hadn’t changed up his routine. “Come on!”

Footsteps echoed close behind her as bullets two and three barely missed their mark. Chunks of cement nicked at her exposed skin, and she raised her arms to protect her face. Wouldn’t do a damn bit of good against a bullet, but instinct and adrenaline drove her now. She rounded the tail end of Elliot’s SUV and wrenched the door open. No keys. She dived inside, ripping the visor down. The keys dropped into her lap.

Braxton took cover behind the hood, squeezing off another shot. Then a third.

“Get in!” Elizabeth pulled the driver’s side door closed and started the engine. Shoving the SUV into Drive, she paused as the shooter positioned himself directly in front of them.

Hiking himself into the back seat, Braxton tapped on her shoulder. “Liz, go!”

The firefighter raised his gun, taking aim. One second. Two. And fired.

She froze as the bulletproof glass held against the shot. Then unfroze as rage coursed through her. The shooter had come for her, targeted her. Lifting her foot from the brake, she slammed on the accelerator and steered directly into the shooter. The growl of the engine drowned the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears. Pressure built in her lungs. “Hang on back there.”

Her leather seat protested against his grip on the headrest. “Liz…”

The shooter pulled the trigger two more times, each bullet caught in the windshield, a split second before he launched himself out of the way of the vehicle.

Elizabeth spun the steering wheel toward the still-open security gate. Bouncing in her seat as they catapulted over the gate’s tracks, she fishtailed out of the garage. Blackhawk Security grew distant in the rearview mirror. Two familiar faces stepped into the middle of the road behind them, but she didn’t have time to stop and explain everything to her team. Braxton had been telling the truth.

Someone was targeting her, but she wasn’t the only one she had to worry about now. She lifted her gaze to the rearview mirror, to the father of her unborn baby. “Fine. You can take me to whatever safe house you’ve set up until we figure out who you think is trying to kill me. But to be clear, it’s not because I trust you.” Elizabeth took a deep breath, her ribs aching from the explosion in the conference room, then forced her attention back to the road. “It’s because you got me pregnant.”

“I STILL CAN’T believe it.” Braxton couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Someone had tried to kill the woman he vowed to protect, but it was more than that. Adrenaline drained from his veins in small increments, but not enough to clear his head.

Wow. Liz was pregnant. And he was the father. She’d told him before the explosion, but he hadn’t been able to process that until now. It’d been kind of hard to think when the bullets were flying. Reaction—that was what he was good at. But…he was going to be a father. A smile threatened to overwhelm his features, pure joy exploding through him.

“Someone just tried to kill us. Twice. Can we please focus on that?” The weight of her attention pinned him against his seat from the rearview mirror. “I think we have bigger problems to talk about.”

“I think the fact you’re pregnant is pretty big.” He swayed with the SUV as she wound through neighborhoods, around strip malls and into the edges of the city. Days of staying off the grid, months of grueling physical training, years of working for the NSA…none of it had prepared him for this. A baby. He compressed the safety button on the stolen gun and set it beside him on the seat. They were going to have a baby. “Might as well not have used protection at all.”

“Yeah, apparently, latex wasn’t strong enough for your swimmers.” A hint of a smile played across her mouth, the first softening of her guard since he set sights on her in the conference room. “If you’re thinking about asking me whether or not I’m sure the baby is yours, I’ll save you the time. Yes, Braxton, she’s yours. No, Braxton, I haven’t been with anybody else since the night you took me to bed then disappeared without a word. And, yes, I’m keeping the baby. I plan to raise her on my own without help. Any other questions?”

“It’s a girl?” He ran his palms over the baseball cap and interlaced his fingers at the crown of his head. He turned away from her, surveying the curve of the street but not really seeing where they were. The muscles across his back strained under the self-induced pressure. He didn’t know what else to say, what to think. They were having a girl?

“I found out the sex a couple days ago.” The vulnerability in her voice compelled him to face her again, but she’d turned her gaze back to the road. Snow and ice kicked up along the SUV. She rolled her lips between her teeth. “This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out. I tried to find you, but four months is a long time waiting for you to come back. Figured you’d moved on and I could do the same. When I got tired of the NSA interrogating me about your whereabouts, I changed my name in every federal database I could hack and relocated.”

He’d known about her search effort but ultimately decided to stay away. It’d been the hardest decision of his life and the only way to keep her safe. Until four days ago when he’d learned about Dalton Meyer’s murder and that Oversight’s feeds had been hacked. Until he’d uncovered the program’s surveillance logs. Someone had put her in their crosshairs.

Intense pressure built behind his sternum as she took a sharp left. The city came into focus for the first time since Braxton had gotten in the vehicle. A familiar line of bare trees surrounding Fairview Lions Park cut off his air. A good foot of snow covered the all-too-familiar horseshoe pit and most of the green and purple playground where he’d spent countless nights as a kid after his father had lost the house to the bank. Right there, under the small rock wall. He forced his attention back to the rearview mirror as a group of homeless made their way down the street, back to her, his anchor. No point in studying the weathered faces as they passed. His old man had most likely died from his addictions a long time ago. Wasn’t important. The past was dead, and he sure as hell would make sure it stayed that way. “Did you also figure moving here was enough to keep me from finding you?”

“I’d accepted you weren’t coming back.” Liz cocked her head. “In retrospect, I guess Anchorage had been on my mind since you told me you’d never step foot in this city again. It’d worked until an hour ago.” She glanced at him—almost too fast for him to catch it—then back to the road. “You never told me how you managed to find me.”

“You’re predictable. I knew you’d never change your first name.” Not after what she’d told him about her mother and the long line of Elizabeths in her family. “As for your new last name, I remembered your favorite TV show growing up. Wasn’t hard to sift through the short list of Elizabeth Dawsons and track you down from there.”

Nothing would’ve stopped him from finding her.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Her knuckles tightened over the steering wheel. There wouldn’t be a next time. Not if he had anything to say about it. She turned the SUV east, leaving the park and memories he’d worked hard to bury behind. “So are you going to tell me where this safe house of yours is or are we going to drive around all night?”

“Make one more loop around the neighborhood.” Braxton studied the cars behind them. They hadn’t been followed. Whoever had taken shots at them in the parking garage probably hadn’t been able to make it past the wall of police officers and emergency personnel surrounding the building. At least, not in a hurry. On top of that, her team had seen them race from the scene. His pulse hammered at the base of his skull, and he wiped at the dried patches of blood along his forehead. He should’ve known the bastard would come at her at Blackhawk Security. As far as he’d been able to tell over the last few days, that was where she’d spent most of her time. Day and night. Protecting her clients just as she’d protected millions of lives during her contract work for the NSA. And now with a baby. “Have you told your team?”

“No. Not yet.” Her shoulders rose on an audible inhale. Hesitation tightened the cords running down her neck. She made another turn, seemingly refusing to look back at him. “I was thinking of telling Sullivan about the baby today, but then someone blew up the conference room and it sort of slipped to the back of my mind.”

A laugh escaped from his control. She always did have a way of downplaying stressful situations with sarcasm. “Understandable.”

“I work in network security now.” Liz ran a hand through her hair and levered her elbow against the driver’s side door. “My clients come to me to assess their firewalls, encrypt the information on their servers, basically make their networks unhackable. I analyze shell corporations and perform background checks for everyone on my team. I can’t think of a single person who would want me dead.”

“All I know is someone tried to kill you back there.” He wouldn’t discount the possibility the threat was tied to Blackhawk Security. They had to consider all the angles. Past, present, someone invested in the outcome of the firm’s military and private contracts. The list of suspects with the kind of knowledge and training that shooter had to have was endless, but military training was a definite. He needed access to her client files. “And I’m not going to let them succeed.”

“Do you think this could be linked to my contract with the NSA?” Her voice wavered. To someone who hadn’t memorized every inflection, every emotion, it would’ve gone unnoticed. But not to him. He knew her inside and out, down to a cellular level. Even with filtered moonlight coming through the SUV’s tinted windows, he noted the color draining from her face. Hell. The nightmares. How could he have forgotten about her damn nightmares? Her throat worked to swallow. “Maybe a family member or someone who’d gotten a look at the files?”

Her fear slid through him, and his body reacted automatically. Ready for battle to protect what was his. One breath. Two. “You still have nightmares.”

Not a question. He was there during Oversight’s trial run. He’d witnessed how it’d affected her.

“Assuming the person who shot at us in the garage is the same person who hacked those feeds, which might not be the case, you should be able to use my backdoor access to narrow down a location.” Him? Liz twisted the steering wheel to the right a little too hard. He fell back against the seat and reached out for his gun before it fell to the floor. Okay, so she didn’t want to talk about what kept her up at night, but he couldn’t find this bastard on his own. He needed her to run the program. “The only problem is the access opens a two-way door. The second you lock on to a location, he has yours.”

“Don’t you mean he’d have our location?” he asked.

“No, Braxton.” She set her jaw, chancing a quick glance into the rearview mirror. “I told you the day I terminated my consulting contract with the NSA. I’ll never touch that program again. If you want to trace those feeds, you’re doing it alone.”

Braxton didn’t answer.

“Turn right at the next street. Third building from the end of the road.” The apartment he’d leased under a fake name off one of those online sites where home owners rented out their homes wasn’t much. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms. But it would get the job done while he was back in Anchorage. However long that would be. He studied Liz as she pulled the SUV to the curb then shouldered his way out of the vehicle behind her. She stepped onto the pavement, hand supporting her head where shrapnel had cut into her during the explosion. A groan worked up her throat, and his blood pressure spiked. He stepped into her, her rough exhale skimming across his neck as rain pounded onto his shoulders. “You okay?”

“It’s nothing.” She dropped her hand and stepped away. Her right hand shook slightly. She tried to hide it by curling her fingers into her palms, but she couldn’t hide from him.

She was scared. Rightfully so, but he’d die before he let anything happen to her. Or their baby. “I’m not going to let that bastard lay a finger on you. I promise.”

Silence settled between them. Tight, thick and full of distance.

“I only agreed to your help because someone was shooting at us, and I didn’t want to die.” Liz shook her head. “So I don’t need your promises. I need you to keep me alive until I figure out who wants me dead.”

Chapter Three

Elizabeth hefted the SUV’s gate above her head and lifted the black duffel bag standard for all Blackhawk Security operatives from the dark interior. Mostly supplies. A couple changes of clothes, ammunition, food storage, emergency flares. The basics of her new profession. Never knew what kind of weather or client would come calling. Although they’d borrowed Elliot’s SUV, and the clothes weren’t going to fit her. “If you’re not going to trace Oversight’s feeds on your own, fill me in on your plan.”

They’d wound a lot of circles through neighborhoods, parks and strip malls, finally ending up at what looked like an apartment complex. The shooter hadn’t followed them. She would’ve spotted him through the maze of routes they’d taken. The SOB who’d taken a shot at her was most likely licking his wounds and devising another way to kill her. If Braxton had been telling the truth about the shooter’s target. She paused at the thought. She took care of network security for a start-up security company. Wasn’t exactly the kind of job that would land her in a killer’s crosshairs. But if this had anything to do with her work for the NSA…

No. It couldn’t. She’d left that life behind months ago. Besides, those files were classified. It’d take someone with much higher security clearance than the director of the NSA to access them. That’d been part of the deal. She’d signed dozens of nondisclosure agreements about the program’s trial run, and the federal government would hide Oversight’s existence at all costs.

“First, I want your forensics guy to analyze those bullets in the windshield.” Braxton leaned against the back quarter panel mere inches from her, arms crossed across that broad chest of his. The weight of his attention pressurized the air in her lungs. He watched her carefully, as though he couldn’t miss a single moment. “Maybe we’ll get lucky with an ID on the unsub trying to kill you, and—”

“And you go back into hiding.” That was the deal. She’d agreed to his protection, and as soon as they had a viable lead on that shooter, he’d go back to whatever rock he been hiding under for the last four months and let her move on with her life. Alone. Storm clouds shifted overhead as the last remnants of rain pelted against her leather jacket, but the crisp, cleansing atmospheric scent did nothing to clear her head. Unzipping the duffel, she reached in, wrapped her shaking hand around her teammate’s backup weapon, and loaded a fresh magazine. Full.

“Right,” he said.

Setting the bag back in the trunk, she faced Braxton with her emotions in check and her guard in place. He might be the father of her unborn baby, but that didn’t mean she had to trust him. Elizabeth lifted her gaze to his. “You think going back to Blackhawk Security to hand over the bullets is a good idea? I seem to remember half of the penthouse floor is missing, and we almost died in the garage.”

Braxton moved in close, too close, his clean, masculine scent mixing with the aroma of rain. The combination urged her to lean into him, to forget how much she’d missed him. She’d told herself—hell, told him—she’d moved on, but her body had yet to grasp the idea. “I told you I won’t let him touch you. You have my word.”

“And I told you your word doesn’t mean a damn thing to me.” She fought back a quiver. Tightness ran down her neck and back. After countless hours—months—of trying to find him, here he stood less than a foot away. In the flesh. Tightening her grip around the duffel bag, she scrambled for purchase as the past threatened to drag her under. No. She’d been down this path once before. She’d trusted him, and it cost her everything. “We should ditch the vehicle and get inside. If the shooter is the same person who hijacked Oversight’s feeds, he’ll be able to track us to this area and try to shoot me again.”

Ten minutes later, they’d abandoned the SUV, sans bullets in the windshield, and hiked back to the apartment on foot. Braxton led her up two flights of stairs and toward an apartment in the back of the third building, his clothing barely concealing the muscle he’d put on since the last time she’d seen him. And not just in his upper body. His legs flexed beneath denim, powerful and strong. Inserting a key in the lock, he turned the doorknob and shouldered the door open. “Wait here a minute.”

He didn’t wait for her answer as he disappeared inside.

A breeze shook the trees below, and she stepped to the railing. No shooters waiting in the trees. No bomb ticking off nearby. She smoothed her hand over her lower abdomen as a rush of nausea churned in her stomach. Who would want her dead? And why now?

“Surveillance is clean.” Braxton filled the door frame just inside her peripheral vision. “The place isn’t much, but it gets the job done. We’ve got power, water, gas, and I had groceries delivered yesterday.”

She followed him inside, the skin along her collarbones prickling with the onslaught of a draft coming from the vents above. “Hiding your how-to-be-a-good-spy magazines before I came inside?”

“No, I keep those locked up all the time.” Braxton’s laugh replaced the cold-induced goose pimples along her arms with heat, but she couldn’t afford to give it much notice. Find out who was trying to kill her and why, then move on with her life. That was it.

He’d been right about the apartment. It wasn’t much, but it’d work for what they needed. Large windows took up most of the east wall, providing a jaw-dropping view of the mountains. A large sectional had been positioned in the corner of the living room, only photos of wildlife and scenic Alaska hanging on the white walls. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms from the looks of it. Simple. Bare. But the setup of surveillance equipment across the dining room table said secure. It suited him. Her, too.

“You can take the back bedroom if you want to clean up. There’s a bathroom attached to that one, so we don’t have to share.” Braxton maneuvered behind her, and she straightened a bit more. “I’ll have some food for us by the time you’re done.”

“Good idea. Give me a few minutes.” She checked her wristwatch. Nine at night. They weren’t going to get much done at this hour. The investigation would have to start in the morning. Another rush of nausea gripped her tight, and she fought to breathe through her nose to counter it. Didn’t work. The target of a shooter, reunited with the man she thought she’d never see again, and suffering from morning sickness all at the same time. Great.

“Take your time.” He headed toward the kitchen, tossing his baseball cap onto the counter. His dark hair skimmed his shoulders, and, hell, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit the look worked for him.

Elizabeth forced one foot in front of the other. Space. She needed space. Away from him. The lighttan-colored walls passed in a blur as she escaped to the nearest bedroom. She wasn’t sure if this was the room he’d meant for her to take, but at the moment, she didn’t care. Tossing her duffel onto the floor, she exhaled hard and ran a hand through her hair.

It’d been four months since she’d made the worst mistake of her life by climbing under the sheets with Braxton. That should’ve been long enough to get control of her physical reactions. Damn it. This wasn’t the plan. She’d accepted there would be a bottomless hole in her heart where she’d shove everything she felt for Braxton Levitt in order to raise their daughter on her own. But he’d come back. To protect her. Still, while she might have to stay within physical proximity of him, she wouldn’t let him hurt her again. Keeping her emotional distance would have to do. That, and a securely locked bedroom door. “Just a few days, baby girl. We’ve got this.”

The bedroom came into focus. Single queen-size bed, nightstand, dresser with some papers settled on top, same type of photography on the walls as she’d noticed in the living room. And a cardboard box full of phones stashed in the corner. She fished out a phone from the middle of pile and studied the room again. Groceries delivered, a box of phones, surveillance setup. How long had Braxton planned on staying here?

She swiped her thumb across the screen and dialed Vincent Kalani’s number from memory. She’d left her phone with the SUV about a mile west of here. Anyone who tried pinging it for a location would only find disappointment. Blackhawk Security training 101. The other line rang three times. Then four. “Come on, Vincent. Pick up the phone.” Another ring. If he hadn’t made it out of the building alive, she’d never forgive herself for leaving the forensics expert in the middle of a crime scene. “Pick up the damn—”

“Kalani.” Vincent’s usually smooth voice sounded rough, damaged.

“You’re alive.” Relief flooded through her. She exhaled hard, closing her eyes with a hand on her forehead. Turning her back to the door, she ignored the burn in her lower lash line. Hormones. Crying came too easy these days. “I was beginning to worry I’d be stuck with your vengeful ghost for the rest of my life.”

“No thanks to your new bodyguard there.” Muffled static reached through his end of the line. “What number are you calling from?”

“A burner I picked up out of a box full of phones. Consider this my new number for the time being.” She chewed on the end of her thumbnail. They shouldn’t have left him behind. She could’ve fought Braxton harder, could’ve done something. “Tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m good,” Vincent said. “Confirm you’re safe and give me permission to punch your ex in the face the next time I see him.”

“I’m safe. For now. And permission granted.” She dropped her hand and rolled her shoulders back. Pain shot through the right side of her rib cage, and she doubled over with a rough exhale. “But you’ll have to get in line.”

“Liz?” Vincent asked. “You okay?”

“Fine for someone who took an eight-foot oak door to the right side.” She breathed through the pain. “Listen, whoever set that bomb tried to finish the job in the garage. I pulled three slugs out of Elliot’s windshield, but I’m not sure how to hand them off to you without putting myself back in the open.”

“Stay put,” Vincent said. “I’ll have Anchorage PD’s crime scene unit check it out. Maybe we’ll get lucky on a stray casing. If that doesn’t work, we’ll set something up to get me those slugs. You should know, as of right now the Sovereign Army is taking credit for the bombing.”

“The privacy activists? Explosives aren’t usually their forte.” Headlines had taken over national news with the group’s intent to sell and publish congressmen and women’s browsing histories and darkest secrets, but setting a bomb at a security company? Although if the extremist group discovered she’d helped the federal government create a surveillance system to spy on them for the past year, who knew how far they’d escalate. Still, something about that didn’t sit well. A knock at the door pushed her pulse higher. Braxton. She nodded, even though Vincent couldn’t possibly see it, and turned as the bedroom door cracked open. “Thanks for the intel. Call me if you find anything else.”

She ended the call, nervous energy skittering up her spine.

Green-gray eyes locked on her and, suddenly, the last four months disappeared to the back of her mind. Braxton made his way inside, a white box in one hand and a steaming bowl of something intoxicating in the other. “Your team?”

“Yeah. Hope you don’t mind I borrowed one of your phones to make the call.” She tossed the burner onto the bed, crossing her arms over her midsection. Grinding her teeth, she fought against the pain ripping through her side. “Looks like Sovereign Army took credit for the bombing. Vincent’s sending Anchorage PD to analyze the scene in the garage. He’ll call back if he finds something. He’s very much looking forward to punching you in the face when he sees you again.”

“Fair enough.” A smile curled at one edge of his mouth, and his all-too-familiar pull hooked into her. Damn it. When would he stop affecting her like this? Braxton closed the space between them, coming within mere inches of her. Her breath caught in her throat as he maneuvered around her to set the bowl on the nightstand. Straightening, he backed away slowly, that mesmerizing gaze steady on her. “So now that there’s nothing more we can do tonight, take off your shirt.”

EXPERTS SAID TIME healed old wounds, but what the hell did they know? Braxton popped open the first aid kit beside him on the bed. How many times had he called her over the last month from this very same safe house only to hang up when she answered? Two? Five? Maybe more. She wouldn’t have spoken to him if he’d opened his mouth. That was clear now. More than likely, she would’ve demanded a trace on the call the second she’d realized who was on the other line and sent any resource available his way. His disappearance obviously hadn’t torn her apart as much as it had him. But, hell, he deserved it. Even if leaving had been to protect her.

“Excuse me?” Liz cradled her rib cage. Her features contorted but smoothed almost instantly. As though she’d caught herself in a moment of weakness.

Stubborn woman. On a scale from one to ten, he pegged her pain around a seven. Yet she hadn’t said a word. He’d noticed the way she favored that side, the small flinches in her expression. She’d been lucky to survive that explosion. If it weren’t for the very same oak door that’d possibly cracked her ribs protecting her from most of the shrapnel, she might not be standing here. The ache under his sternum, the one connected with the woman standing mere feet away, refused to subside as he studied the fast tick of her pulse at the base of her throat. “The only way for me to see if your ribs are broken is you taking off your shirt.”

“I’m fine. I’m sure it’s a rib out of place. It’ll either pop back when it’s ready, or this girl will kick it back where it belongs in the next few months.” She stared up at the ceiling, her fingers prodding into her side. Small lines creased her expression, and his gut clenched. In her next breath, she took back control. “Besides, I’m pretty sure you’re just looking for a way back under my shirt. Which isn’t going to happen.”

A laugh rumbled from deep in his chest. Exhaustion played a wicked game across her expression, but she’d keep going until they identified the unsub responsible for that bomb. That’d been one of the reasons he’d recommended her to Dalton Meyer for the Oversight project at the NSA two years ago. He’d studied her work programming drones for the small start-up company in Washington, DC, and admired her determination to get the job done. Nothing had changed in that respect. But sacrificing her health in the name of the investigation wouldn’t get them anywhere. “Can you blame a guy for trying?”

Her burst of laughter filled the room but cut off in her next breath. She doubled over, hiking her hand into her side.

“All right, enough stalling.” Braxton tossed the first aid kit onto the bed and propelled himself to his feet. “I’m taking a look at your ribs whether you like it or not.”

“Why?” Liz straightened slowly, pain evident on her features. “Unless you got your medical degree while you were in hiding?”

“Not exactly, but you learn a few things when you’re on your own and the government has plastered your face on the front page of the FBI’s website.” He feathered his fingertips under her shirt and lifted the black silk. Her sharp gasp quickened his pulse, and a rush of satisfaction shot through him. He’d always been able to change her breathing patterns with one touch. Nice to know some things hadn’t changed. Smooth skin slid against the rough calluses on his hand. And wasn’t that the perfect metaphor for their relationship—rough versus smooth. Bruises had already started darkening around her bottom rib on the right side. He studied her expression in his peripheral vision as he pressed his thumb into the bone. “It’s no way to live, though. Strange cities, fake names, avoiding human interaction.” Avoiding her. “Gets old real fast.”

“Well, now it looks like we have something in common.” She hissed as he prodded the third rib from the bottom. “Now I’m being hunted like an animal. Only this predator isn’t the federal government and has tried to blow me up and shoot me in the same day.”

He locked his jaw to cool the anger churning in his gut. If he hadn’t left, none of this would’ve happened.

“Nothing feels broken.” Braxton dropped his hand. Every cell in his body screamed for him to erase the worry lines from her expression, but he couldn’t move. He studied the vulnerability playing across her face. What he wouldn’t give to help her forget the nightmare of the last couple hours. “I’ll get you a heating pad for the soreness and ice for the inflammation. Should be good as new in a couple days.”

A weak smile played across her mouth. “Thanks.”

He turned away from her and headed toward the door. If he didn’t, the unquenched desire that’d burrowed itself beneath his skin and crackled along his veins when he touched her would take control. Her life—their baby’s life—had been put at risk because of him. Anything more between them would only make it that much harder to walk away. That’d been the deal. She agreed to his protection. He’d go back into hiding. Fighting to keep his focus trained, Braxton forced one foot in front of the other.

“Why’d you come back?” she asked. “Why now?”

He froze, his hands curling into fists at his side. Ten seconds. That was all he needed to clear his head, but she couldn’t even give him that. “Liz—”

“I’d finally worked out what I would say to our baby the day she asked about her father, but then you walked right into Blackhawk Security. Have to admit—” she fitted her shirt back into place out of the corner of his eye “—I never saw it coming.”

Braxton turned. No point in lying. He’d never been able to stay away from her for more than a few days at a time. Even now, he was caught in the undeniable gravitational pull of hers, and he wouldn’t be able to fight it much longer. “I always planned on coming back.”

“Did you ever think you never should’ve left in the first place?” Her expression shifted from genuine curiosity to outright fury. The small muscles along her jaw flexed. Liz took a step back as he approached then brushed right past him. As though his revelation ignited that anger she desperately fought to control. “Maybe then we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

He wrapped his hand around hers and pulled her into him. Lean muscle flexed along her arm, and he imagined all too easily exploring every inch of the strength under her clothing. Every mole. Every scar. The soft curve of her lower abdominals where their baby thrived. He brushed his thumb over the back of her hand and loosened his grip. Desire surged through him, a mere taste of the chaos capable of rendering him completely useless when she was around. Damn what she thought of him, damn the investigation or the reason he’d stayed away from her for the last sixteen weeks. She had to know the truth. She deserved to know.

Liz stared up at him with that gorgeous fire in her expression—almost daring him to make his next move—but didn’t wrench out of his hold.

He forced the words to the tip of his tongue, but no sound left his mouth. Licking his lips, he dropped his hand from hers. No. Now wasn’t the time. Because he couldn’t lose her again. Every decision he’d made over his career had a price, but he’d never expected her to pay for any of it. And she would once she learned the truth.

“You’re right. I never should’ve left, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you and our baby if that’s what you want.” He framed her hips between both hands, his thumbs grazing her lower belly. Braxton stepped into her, relishing in the slight widening of her eyes, of her exhale rushing against the skin along his neck. “Starting now.”

Reaching past her, he skimmed his hand over the top of the dresser and grabbed the yellow envelope resting on top. He slid it between them and handed it to her. Everything that’d happened today at Blackhawk Security—the bomb, the shooter in the garage—had to do with what was in the envelope. “You asked me why I came back. Why now? This is why.”

She took the envelope from him, the furrow between her dark eyebrows deepening. She slid her fingers inside the envelope and pulled out the short stack of surveillance photos he’d collected from Oversight’s servers. Photos of her. Confusion deepened the lines across her forehead. “What is this?”

She blinked as realization hit her hard.

He wanted to reach for her. To comfort her. But didn’t.

The envelope protested in her hand. Liz shook her head and took a step back. She shuffled through the stack of photos, one after the other. But studying photos wouldn’t make the truth any less real. Someone had been hunting her for months. “Wh-how did you get these?”

“I programmed an alert into Oversight’s code to notify me when you were the subject before I left the agency.” If he hadn’t, she—and their baby—wouldn’t be standing here right now. “I started getting alerts six days ago. Right after I read about Dalton Meyer’s murder and discovered Oversight’s feeds were hijacked.”

“So many photos. Outside the office, getting into my car.” Her voice barely registered. Too soft. Too full of fear. The muscles down his spine responded. She swallowed hard, eyes wide. “This one is from a traffic camera as I drove home.” Liz ran a hand through her hair as her mouth parted. “Someone’s been watching me? For how long?”

“No, someone has been stalking you.” He picked out one particular photo from the back and handed it to her. A photo of her leaving her own home. Whoever had been watching her knew where she lived. “And I’m here to find out why.”

Chapter Four

“I don’t think the Sovereign Army took these pictures.” Elizabeth dropped the photos in her hand to her side. She’d been followed for weeks—maybe months. She’d had no idea, but she couldn’t let the fear spreading at the back of her mind take control. What else had her stalker uncovered? Her head spun. Nausea festered. Focus. She forced herself to breathe deep. She’d started a new life here, loved her job, was having a baby. Nobody would take that from her. Not some extremist group. Not Braxton. And not whoever had tried to blow her up three hours ago.

She headed for the door. Braxton was a former analyst. Analysts ran secure networks. All she needed was a computer. She trusted her team—trusted Vincent—with her life, but she had to see the Sovereign Army taking credit for planting that bomb at Blackhawk Security herself. The shooter in the garage, the photos Braxton uncovered. Neither of those were part of the group’s MO. “An extremist group bent on protecting Americans’ privacy wouldn’t run illegal surveillance on their target.”

“They didn’t seem so concerned about protecting privacy when they threatened to leak officials’ browsing histories to the public.” Braxton cut her off, his mountainous shoulders blocking her view of the door. “I watch the news, too. These guys have been known to do what it takes to get their message across, violently if forced. The best shot we have to uncovering who’s coming after you is Oversight’s backdoor access.”

The breath she’d been holding rushed from her lungs as the past threatened to overrun the present. She fought back the memories, but how could she when all she thought about when she closed her eyes was the last time she’d accessed that code?

“I told you I can’t do that.” Her voice rose with each word. He should understand that better than anyone. He’d been there. He’d watched how Oversight’s trial run had affected her. No. He didn’t get to decide how they handled the threat on her life. He’d lost that right the night he’d walked out on her all those months ago. “This is what we’re going to do. First, you’re going to get out of my way, so I can review the bomb squad’s findings for myself. Second, we’re going to arrange to get Vincent the slugs we pulled from the windshield. If he gets a hit on ballistics, you get to keep your end of the deal, and we pretend this whole thing never happened. Go our separate ways.”

“I’ll keep my end of the deal—” Braxton closed in on her “—but if he doesn’t come up with our suspect, I expect you to keep yours.”

“Agreed.” Silence settled between them. It wasn’t an empty silence. It was full of anger, of something else Elizabeth didn’t want to identify. “You’re pushing me out of the investigation by trying to keep me behind a computer. Why?”

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